


Best Friends

by vieralynn (sarasa_cat)



Series: Postcards from Kirkwall [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Gen Prompt Bingo, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 06:02:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarasa_cat/pseuds/vieralynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aveline might have thought of Cullen as one of her closest friends if not for the troubling secret they shared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Friends

The Knight Captain seemed far too young for his title. There was something in the way he spoke, in how his emotions poured out from him in a rush, and in how he hardly commanded words to describe the trials faced by soldiers beneath him. Something in the sudden easiness that slackened his shoulders the moment someone more self-assured took control. That soft lilt in his voice as he accepted honest offers of aid. The unexpected warmth coloring his words when he treated Hawke as an ally. That hint of shyness, almost virginal.

Ser Cullen was far too young for a knight captain, especially in a city like Kirkwall, but Aveline liked him. He felt familiar the moment they met, someone she understood.

Cullen’s defensive fighting style was the first thing Aveline noticed. His grounded stance refused to give an inch yet made little attempt at advancing forward. That wasn’t a standard technique used by templars, nor was the way that he held his sword. He fought like a soldier recruited straight from the fields of Redcliffe or Lothering. ‘Painfully Ferelden,’ Hawke later said with a laugh, although her good natured gibe was made hours after Cullen’s bannorn drawl confirmed his origin.

Once introductions had been put behind them, Cullen always spoke freely, although his words often conveyed a sense of certainty that highlighted his youth. At least the man had the wisdom to consider the words of others, which was another reason why Aveline liked him. Behind half of Cullen’s words, he sounded like a boy longing for a quiet life at home, but his Maker had given him a different life—one he accepted without complaint.

The man reminded Aveline of some of the young men she had led back when she served in the King’s army. And, even though Aveline found little utility in nostalgia, whenever Cullen deferred to her, she did nothing to remind him how his templar title outranked hers.

If anyone pressed Aveline to state her reasons for trusting Cullen, she knew her explanation would sound shaky: the Knight Captain’s youth, his shy smile, the easy rhythm of his Fereldan drawl. None of those reasons seemed like more than clannish, ethnic pride mixed with her years of experience outweighing his. But, she had no doubt that his sense of honor edged out his sense of duty, and that was a better reason for trusting him than all the rest. There was also his habit of avoiding difficult situations. All in all, each of these reasons eased Aveline’s concern over a troubling issue that hung between them. This devout and loyal templar held a secret, the very same secret Aveline also held. She believed Cullen to be a good man, which should be enough, and so she trusted him to hold that secret closely.

Not that she had much of a choice.

The secret.

That damnable secret. Four words strung out in a taut line, a tripwire poised to let loose the force of the Chantry’s law. Whenever Aveline and Cullen spoke, they deftly danced around those four dangerous words. Hawke is a mage.

That secret. The secret Hawke didn’t do enough to protect. Oh, certainly, there had never been a doubt that those four words earned their passage into Kirkwall. Hired blades are cheap and smugglers like Athenril needed more to keep their edge. So, while one may call it loyalty on Aveline’s part, even she saw the value of a well aimed spirit bolt and a spray of ice when walking nighttime patrols in neighborhoods far too dangerous for ill-equipt city guardsmen.

Aveline would be a fool to think that the Knight Captain had no idea what Hawke could rip forward from the fade. Yet, he let her go. A favor for a favor, a life for a life. Although his unmasked piety should have provided a clear warning to Hawke.

In the end, Cullen was just a man, and a young man at that. The forces he served were larger than the entire city, and it was only a matter of time before such forces dictated that his duty overrule his gratitude. Whenever that day came, whenever Hawke’s secret spread through the Gallows inked on an order for arrest, Cullen would do his job. With luck, he’d tip off Aveline first, giving her time to warn Hawke.

If not for the secret the Knight Captain held, Aveline might have called Cullen one of her closest friends. Such a straight forward man with simple needs, fully literate and well educated. He had no interest in petty politics or expanding his jurisdiction’s boundaries. If he had information the guard needed to do their job, he passed facts onward to Aveline when he could and never stonewalled her when he couldn’t. The few times she asked for information Cullen could not give out, he glanced down at his boots, cheeks reddening as he offered his apologies. Such an honest boy.

Among all of Kirkwall’s templars, Aveline found Cullen easiest to work with. He didn’t look down at her for serving in the city guard, and never once did he insinuate that any piece of her gear had been stolen. The first chance Cullen had a moment to ask, he nodded his chin at the templar shield strapped to her arm and asked in whose memory she carry it. As it turned out, Cullen and Wesley had never met, but Cullen promised to light candles in Wesley’s name.

.

One afternoon late in autumn, Aveline saw Cullen descend the steps of Hightown’s chantry. They greeted each other as she fell in step beside him.

“I just lit mid-month remembrance candles for everyone who had been like a brother to me in Ferelden,” Cullen said. “I also lit a candle in the name of Ser Wesley Vallen.”

“Thank you. That was very kind.” Aveline appreciated how, month after month, Cullen never once asked her to attend the Chantry’s mid-month day of remembrance. He never asked why she didn’t light candles, never even pushed her to explain the reasons that left her feeling uneasy when within the Chantry. Wesley had believed, and she never gave religion any thought until the day she found reason to doubt. Her business was her own and Cullen never pried. For a young man, he had some wisdom in him and, in that, Aveline was thankful.

On that afternoon as they traversed the plaza in silence, Cullen appeared smaller than usual, shoulders pulled forward, shrunken into himself. It seemed right for Aveline to wrap her arm around him, and even though her gesture came off a bit motherly, she saw him as a comrade.

“Do you miss Ferelden?” he asked.

“Sometimes. But everything I had in Ferelden is gone. Kirkwall seems like a good enough place for me. At least I can do something here and feel needed.”

Even though Cullen nodded in acknowledgement, he remained pensive, head down, mouth set in a hard frown.

Aveline said nothing as she remained at Cullen’s side. They walked past stately mansions covered in ivy, along streets in the pretty part of Kirkwall, neighborhoods that were mostly quiet with manicured hedges and bright flowers. Lines of trees shaded benches straight down the middle of roads paved with clean cobbles. City guards were stationed prominently or walked uneventful patrols. The bulk of Kirkwall’s tax money, hard at work.

As she and Cullen turned a corner and stepped into an empty courtyard, they passed a servants’ alleyway. Cullen’s pace hesitated. He glanced over his shoulder before grabbing Aveline and pushing her into the darkness of the alley.

In that one sudden moment, she thought about the size of Cullen’s frame. This man was large enough to knock her cleanly off guard. After scuffling a few paces down the narrow passage, he pushed her back against the wall. His hands clamped down on her shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“You better be.”

“Look—” Cullen positioned himself so his body blocked hers. “If anyone walks by, this looks like I’m questioning someone.”

“Right now I certainly have a few questions for you.”

“This isn’t about you. I mean, it could be because of your association.”

“What association?”

“You know.” Although peeved, the groan that follow almost sounded sheepish.

“This matter would be clearer if you spoke plainly.”

“Hawke.”

“And this is why you feel the need to rough up a city guard in an alleyway?” Maker’s balls. Cullen wasn’t just young for a Knight Captain. The man was in over his head.

“You know what Hawke did to some of the Gallows’ templars. Don’t deny it!” His harshly whispered words carried the force of a shout. “What did she get herself into? And why did you let her?”

“There’s only so much I can do. The law in this city is little more than a mirage, and you know that as well as I. People make decisions in the moment. Some decisions are hasty. Some end up fatal.”

“This is a mess. I thought of her as a friend to the templars. That’s what I said to Meredith, to the recruits, to others. I thought of her as a friend after all she risked for Keran, for Thrask, for that elf-blooded boy, Feynriel, and for me. Damn it!”

“Hawke is still a friend of the Order.”

“No, no. This is different. This is— Look, I saw Hawke this morning. I told her that I’ve heard troubling rumors about her, and from the look in her eyes, she knew what I meant. But what I actually heard is far worse. Whatever happened out on the coast, someone told the Knight Commander that the Gallows has repeatedly contracted out work to— to an—”

Apostate. He wouldn’t even say the Chantry’s word.  

“Hawke has raised enough money for the Tethras’ expedition. They’re leaving in less than a week.”

“She should leave sooner.” He let go of Aveline’s shoulders and groaned as he dropped his hands to his sides. The man scowled at his feet, his face furrowed with the frustration of not knowing what to say next.

“I’ll make sure to tell her,” Aveline replied.

“We cannot claim to know anything about this. There will certainly be questions. Don’t tell anyone what—”

“Knight Captain, as far as I’ve seen, you have known nothing. You hardly even know Hawke.”

Aveline watched as Cullen swallowed. “Right.” He looked Aveline in the eye. “I met her once, briefly, out on the coast and you were there. Since then, I may have spoken to her once or twice when she stops by the Gallows, and why would anyone like her even think to come to the Gallows. That doesn’t make sense! So, of course I didn’t know. Why would I even guess? I hardly know her at all.”

“That’s right.”

“And I have never once taken any bribes!”

“Which is true, and certainly the Knight Commander knows you wouldn’t. If anyone questions me about you, I’ll stand behind your word. It is the truth, after all.”

“I guess,” he scowled. “We should leave in different directions.”

“This alleyway connects with another that meets with the stairs leading down to Lowtown.”

“Go that way.”

“I will.”

Although Cullen seemed as if he wanted to say something more, fear and anger simmered on his lips and not another word came out.

He stood less than an arm’s reach from Aveline, not really looking at her but not looking away either. And then he turned and plodded back toward the quiet Hightown street where, many times before, he and Aveline had walked side by side, much like two close friends taking a moment to talk.


End file.
